


moondust

by thereisnoreality



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Aged Up NCT Dream, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Jisung is not in a good place, M/M, Past Na Jaemin/Park Jisung, Physical Therapy, Strangers to Lovers, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:22:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27978033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereisnoreality/pseuds/thereisnoreality
Summary: After a devastating accident, Jisung spends months bedridden and dispirited, and vows never to return to Quidditch again.He makes friends with an unlikely stranger, deals with the heartache of his breakup, and fights with Donghyuck through his physical therapy all while ignoring the one question no one seems to let him forget: Will Jisung Park ever make a comeback to the sport he once loved?
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Park Jisung
Comments: 11
Kudos: 81
Collections: NCT Bigbang Round 1





	moondust

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic a year and a half ago on a very internet-less bus ride back to uni and sooner or later, like most of my wips, it was shuffled to bottom of my wips folder. But this fic has always lived in the back of my head and for bigbang, I decided to finish it. So thank you to the Bigbang mod for putting this fest together and forcing me to finish something for once.
> 
> The biggest thank you always to vicky, my beta, for helping me through all of it, and putting up with my whining and generally not murdering me when I'm absolutely sure she wanted to. I love and appreciate you the most <3
> 
> This is probably my most important story, it really means a lot to me and the characters are some of my favourites that I've ever written. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. 
> 
> As always, [the moondust playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3h4zIoOqrlBZDyQJoVZ7NI?si=pDN6UBv0Qaizj8957rF0fA)
> 
> ***There will be a lot of scenes regarding Jisung's injury - which is quite severe - and the emotions that come with such physical trauma. I'll put a note in each of the chapters when such a prolonged scene arises but just as general warning, mentions towards Jisung's less than good mental health and his injury and the recovery will be sprinkled throughout the fic. If there is anything I can add to the tags to help with this, please let me know! And if you'd like to know exactly what happens with regards to his injury/hospitalisation/etc, please feel free to dm me or cc me and I'll be happy to tell you!

> The Quibbler
> 
> **A Shining Star’s Fall — Forever or Merely Temporary?**
> 
> Written by Tilda Swinton
> 
> I have never been a particularly rabid Quidditch fan. It was one of those things that was on the radio every Sunday morning - a product of my completely rabid husband - and on the telly every night - a product of my equally fascinated children - whether I had any say in it or not. However, with the rise of Jisung Park, the blue haired prodigy - one could almost say wunderkind - Chaser of the Neo Nightmares team, on the scene, I found myself somehow pulled to the game. 
> 
> Park’s skill is undeniable. He was scouted from a young age at Hogwarts, spending most of his summers, and even taking a year off from school, to train with elite schools around the world, honing an already brilliant level of talent to something that could be considered genius. However painstaking years of practice has developed mastery of the skill to near perfection. In the six years he’s been active, Park has played as Chaser, a Seeker, a Keeper, and on one notable occasion due to an injured teammate, took on the role of Beater, a rare versatility that has been noted by the sports community. But where he excels, where he _thrives_ , is as a Chaser, having shattered many records in his short career, including highest goal average for Chasers in his age bracket.
> 
> However, tragedy struck when Park, a mere 24 years of age, still young enough to be considered a newbie by many of his peers and seniors, suffered a major injury earlier this spring, during the March 25th game against the Maar Monsters. A freak accident led to his broom crashing against one of the goal stands, and he plummeted over a hundred feet to the ground, severely breaking his spine in several places as well as other injuries occurring on his ribs and torso and right arm. 
> 
> The accident was a shock, as only a decade ago had stricter regulations on broom manufacturers been enforced, leading to higher quality brooms with lesser chances of malfunctioning. Park thankfully survived the accident, having been transported to St. Mungo’s less than half an hour after the crash occurred, where sources reported he was certain to make a full recovery, given time and enough rest. 
> 
> It is now seven months to date since the accident and Park has long been discharged from St. Mungos. And with the competition circuit heating up again, with several teams set to return to training after the holidays, many in the community, fans and players alike, are wondering: Will Jisung Park make a comeback? It has been months since any word has been released from his team and Park seems to be just as absent from public scrutiny - certainly a difficult thing to accomplish given his longtime and very well-publicised relationship with famous actor Jaemin Na-

Jisung crumples up the newspaper and flings it at his fireplace, watching in savage satisfaction as it catches flame instantly, the thin paper curling to black and crumbling to ash below the grate, the words erased as if they had never existed. But they did. Perhaps no longer in Jisung’s hands, but they would swim around in his head for weeks and weeks to come.

Jisung closes his eyes, taking a shaky breath. His arm hurts from the force he’d thrown the paper with and he rubs it, pressing into the healed scars with a wince.

“I was going to read that, you know.”

Jisung opens his eyes. He doesn’t know how long Donghyuck has been standing there, but judging by the amused look on his face, it was certainly long enough to witness Jisung’s little tantrum.

“Go buy another copy, then,” Jisung grunts, slumping lower in the squishy armchair, ignoring the twinge in his back at the movement. 

Donghyuck crosses into the room and thrusts a tea cup at Jisung, forcing him to sit up and take it lest he end up with hot tea all down his pajamas. “Don’t be spiteful, brat, I made you tea out of the goodness of my heart.”

Jisung snorts. “What heart?” He asks, but only when Donghyuck’s collapsed dramatically on the sofa next to him and he’s sure he won’t be bothered to get up to smack Jisung.

Donghyuck narrows his eyes at him. “This preciously good heart of mine that persists in taking care of you, day after day, even after you’ve been horrible to me.”

Jisung takes a noisy sip of his tea and doesn’t answer. Donghyuck moved in about six months ago, after his mother had to go back home to help his father with the farm, to help Jisung out with his recovery. And despite the countless arguments and hell they’d both gone through, Jisung doesn’t know how to express his gratefulness to Donghyuck for that. So he just doesn’t say anything.

“Did you read that article?” Donghyuck asks.

Jisung glances over at him. “I thought you said you hadn’t read it yet.”

Donghyuck shoots him a bland smile. “Bold of you to believe I don’t scour the newspapers every morning for your name, Jisungie.” Jisung scowls over at him and Donghyuck’s expression melts into something worried that instantly sets him on edge. “Did you finish it?”

Jisung looks away to the fire, where the paper has completely vanished into ash, only the merrily flickering flames remaining in the grate. "Only halfway," he mumbles and then stops. Donghyuck already knows what the article is about, why does he keep asking him? He blurts out instead, "They think I'm still dating Jaemin."

Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. Perhaps he'd expected Jisung to address the other, main part of the article, but he had no interest in doing that. Not sober anyway, and it was unlikely Donghyuck would let him drink, given that it was nearing ten in the morning and he hadn’t eaten anything besides a banana, and that only done so under extreme duress (read: Donghyuck shoving it into his hands and watching him with an eagle gaze until he finished it all). 

"Well," Donghyuck draws out contemplatively. "Jaemin's team never put out a press release. And given your... hiatus, I think the general public just sort of assumed you two were just keeping things… private."

The snort that escapes Jisung's mouth this time is far more angry, far more pained. "I bet they did. Takes me breaking half the bones in my body to get some privacy in my life, right?"

Donghyuck purses his lips and stands. "And on that wonderfully grim note," he says, holding out a hand to Jisung who stares at it in the way one might stare at a dead cockroach on their pillow. "Let's get you to your appointment."

* * *

Jisung used to be very in awe of St. Mungo's. It was a beautiful building, impressively hidden from the sight of Muggles despite being in the center of London, with high glass ceilings that streamed whatever sun it could into the glittering lobby below. The hallways were always full of light and plants, and the whole place used to sing of happiness and growth. Nothing like what a hospital usually felt like.

Now, though... Now, Jisung despises the very sight of St. Mungo's. It might have had something to do with the fact that he'd spent weeks and weeks there, slowly piecing back together his bones with the force of his body and several, very smelly, very disgusting potions he'd been forced to drink every hour. Or it might have had to do with the following months of physical therapy appointments he'd been strong armed into doing. Or perhaps, it was the fact that one of its top Healers now resided in Jisung's house, poking and prodding at all of his wounds, both physical and otherwise, and generally annoying the living hell out of Jisung every day, simply by being there.

The perpetrator of Jisung's misery wraps his hand around Jisung's wrist and tugs him to a stop as the crosswalk across them flashes red and the cars start whizzing by.

"Look where you're going," Donghyuck scolds halfheartedly as Jisung startles out of his thoughts, dragging his gaze away from the large building opposite them. "Do you want to get into another accident?"

Jisung shrugs, trying to pull his hand away. It doesn't work; Donghyuck simply twists his hand down and interlaces their fingers, tightening his grip when Jisung tugs harder. "It'd certainly be better than having to go to those stupid physical therapy appointments you keep forcing me into."

Or perhaps the reason he hates St. Mungo’s so much is because of what had transpired there, seven months ago on a drizzly Tuesday afternoon, when Jisung had still been on forced bed rest and he’d forced the words out of his dry throat, tears burning at the back of his eyes that he’d convinced himself had more to do with the sun shining over the figure who stood by the window than the words coming out of his mouth. 

He'd been coerced into walking today, rather an Apparating, pulled along the dreary London sidewalks by a nagging Donghyuck who'd kept telling him the miracles that walking could do for his body. His broken, battered body. Jisung's sure it'll take more than a couple light strolls to fix whatever's wrong with him. He’s not going to admit to Donghyuck that he actually prefers walking now, that months spent bedridden had given him a new appreciation for fresh air and the ability to use his own legs. 

"It's for your own good," Donghyuck reminds him. "I told you, the Muggle studies were correct — physical therapy is very helpful in a patient recovering their previous abilities and in your case it's— "

"Unimportant," Jisung cuts through, staring straight ahead when Donghyuck sends him a cutting glance. He hasn't told anyone about his thoughts about his future, about what he's decided, but he's pretty sure Donghyuck's guessed. It's not like Jisung's being entirely subtle. 

"If you say so," Donghyuck allows, tugging him gently forward by their joined hands as the crosswalk turns green. "But nevertheless, you agreed to therapy and you need to see it through. You don't give up on things."

"You do sometimes," Jisung disagrees.

"Really?" Donghyuck asks him, a note of surprise in his voice. "The Jisung Park I know would have never said that."

It's said blithely, almost as an afterthought, but Jisung flushes with anger at the words. "Yeah, well," he snaps, yanking his hand away from Donghyuck's grasp, unable to hide the wince at the pain that rockets up his arm at the movement. "The Jisung Park you knew smashed into a goalpost and nearly died. He's a little different now."

Donghyuck’s sigh follows him as Jisung stalks into the hospital, bristling, the sound crawling up his aching limbs and into his ears, a silent disapproval all on its own. 

Taeil Moon is the most eccentric person Jisung has ever met. It's probably not a good thing that that is the first thought that pops into Jisung's head when he thinks of his doctor, but Jisung's life is filled with a strange comedy cast of characters and he's become quite used to the sensation of knowing that your close acquaintances are not as normal as they should be.

"Donghyuck!" Taeil says genially as they walk into his office. "And Jisung! My two favourite people in between the ages of twenty four and twenty five."

Jisung sends him a tight smile as he sinks onto the couch, casting a look around the room. Taeil's room, as always, is full of plants, green and bright, lighting up the spacious room in their own special way. He's spent so much time in this room, he's sure he could draw it from memory — if he had any such skills.

"I'm sure we're the only people you know in that age bracket, sir," Donghyuck says with a soft laugh, handing him a folder that Taeil doesn't even glance at as he shoves it under the already teetering pile of files by his lamp. "How are you?"

"I should be asking our star patient that," Taeil says, casting a narrowed-eyed look at Jisung, who squirms in his seat, suddenly thrown off by the scrutiny. Usually these meetings go by with Donghyuck flirting very obviously, Taeil not noticing any of it, and Jisung counting down the minutes until he can leave. This goes against the norm. "I notice you're a lot more limber today." 

Jisung straightens instantly, pulling his back out of the slump he'd been sprawled in. "It's on and off."

Taeil raises a sharp eyebrow. "Hmm. Have you been doing your exercises?"

"Yes," Jisung mutters, glaring at Donghyuck. "Every day."

"Donghyuck wouldn't be doing a good job if you weren't," Taeil tells him, and Jisung notices the way Donghyuck's eyes brighten ever so slightly, the only sign that Taeil's words have any effect on him. Jisung sighs inwardly.

Taeil gets up, rounding his desk and gestures for Jisung to get up from his seat. "Okay, let's check you over, star player. Gotta get those limbs back to work soon, don't we?"

Jisung stands, dutifully pulling off his hoodie so Taeil can look at his back, his wand trailing along his spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "Yep," he agrees, hoping it sounds steady. Across the room, behind Taeil's back, Donghyuck raises an eyebrow at him sardonically.

Jisung stares back at him, keeping his face neutral. Taeil Moon, of all people, does not need to know that Jisung has no intention of ever setting foot on another Quidditch pitch again for as long as he lives.

After his examination, Taeil takes notes down on a battered notebook, humming to himself before looking up at Donghyuck with narrowed eyes.

"What?" Donghyuck asks, clearly taken aback, a small amount of panic in his voice that Jisung feels mildly bad about. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Taeil snaps the notebook shut. "There's absolutely nothing wrong at all with Jisung."

Donghyuck's eyes widen. "But he's been complaining of pain, twinges up and down his arm and spine and—"

"That's to be expected," Taeil cuts in, placing the book back on the cluttered bookshelf, a dark cherry wood with vines from the ivy pot at the base of the shelf twining its way up the shelves. "With an injury that size and that severe, it's normal to still feel some pain here and there. There are some things even magic has a hard time fixing, but— " he casts a sharp look at Jisung as he hurriedly plucks a tie from where it'd been knotted around the lamp and pulls it over his head. "It'll go away with time and _therapy_. You have to keep it up, Jisung, don’t let it fall by the wayside."

Jisung nods dutifully and Taeil turns back to Donghyuck, apparently satisfied with the mute agreement. "You did a good job, Donghyuck," he adds, tone going warmer as he claps a hand on Donghyuck's arm. "I'm really quite proud of you. You've grown up into a wonderful healer."

Jisung has to look away as Donghyuck's smile blooms into full view, the room seeming to light up a few degrees brighter just from the force of his grin alone. "Thank you, sir," he says softly and Taeil nods.

"Now, I'd love to show you out, but I've got a meeting with all the heads of the departments and they'll absolutely _lambaste_ me if I'm late again. I trust you can find your way out?"

"Yes, sir," Donghyuck says, and Jisung looks up to see Taeil shoot them both a distracted grin before whirling out the door, tie still hanging loosely off his neck and his wand stuck behind his ear. Jisung gazes at Donghyuck's expression — a little lost with a faint, lovestruck smile still fading — before clearing his throat, drawing Donghyuck’s attention away from the empty doorway.

"Still in love with him then?"

Donghyuck startles out of his daze, snapping back to Jisung. "It doesn't matter if I am," he says, shoulders slumping. "I'm pretty sure he's engaged."

"What?"

Donghyuck throws him a bittersweet smile. "Didn't you notice? He had a ring on his ring finger."

"No," Jisung says truthfully. He used to pride himself on being observant, but it became harder and harder to give a fuck about things like that when his whole life had collapsed in around him. "But I think you tend to notice everything about Taeil because you're in love with him."

Donghyuck’s smile turns less sweet, more bitter, but he doesn't refute Jisung’s statement as they make their way out into the bustling hospital, leaving the warmth and comfort of Taeil's office behind.

* * *

Chenle comes back from China two weeks later, a shiny new burn on his neck and a trunk load full of useless souvenirs Jisung will absolutely end up scattering around the house just to annoy Donghyuck in three weeks time.

"He's alive!" Chenle greets delightedly when Jisung opens the door to squint into the sunshine. "I thought you'd died when you stopped responding to my letters."

"And yet you didn't even come check up on me," Jisung says morosely. "Even though you thought I might have been _dead_."

Chenle waves a flippant hand and levitates his trunk into the hallway behind Jisung before throwing his arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. "Have you grown taller?" He grumbles into Jisung's neck. "Stop growing, you brat."

"I think the dragons singed a good few inches off your height," Jisung says, hugging Chenle back as tightly as he can. He closes his eyes, taking in the familiar spicy scent of Chenle, of the scent of fire and smoke that seems to cling to him like a second skin. "Stop going off to China."

"I agree," says Chenle, pulling away to glare at him. "I leave the country for nine months and you nearly kill yourself."

Jisung shrugs. "Well," he says, then doesn't know what to say from there and falls silent. Chenle couldn't come see him in that time either, because of the newly stringent policies China had enforced on the international Floo Network. And apparating that distance was never a good idea; it would be horrible to find you'd Splinched yourself halfway across the Eurasian continent.

Donghyuck's out for the day, having to go back to St. Mungo's to fill out forms for Jisung's clearance for more therapy that was ordered by Taeil, and Jisung has full reign over the household. It's not like he does anything different depending on whether Donghyuck is here or not. Most of the time, he just sits on the couch and eats the instant noodles Mark brings him every time he visits.

Chenle's presence brightens his day considerably.

"Merlin's left asscheek," Chenle declares when he follows Jisung into the living room. "This is the gloomiest fucking place I've ever seen in my whole life."

Jisung follows his gaze around the room. It's not untidy — Donghyuck would kill him if he left wrappers and litter lying around — but it's certainly dark, the heavy curtains drawn against the windows and the fire slowly sputtering in the grate, coming to life as the occupants walk into the room. Donghyuck had given up fighting him on the light situation and so Jisung keeps the whole house closed up and closed off. The less people that knew what he was doing, the better.

"It's not that bad."

Chenle spins to stare at Jisung as he collapses on his favourite armchair, nearest to the fire. No amount of heating charms can keep the London cold out and the closer they draw to the depth of winter, the more Jisung's wounds ache.

"Not that bad?" Chenle echoes incredulously. "Jisung, this looks like something out of the Shrieking Shack!"

"Now you're just exaggerating," Jisung mumbles, sinking lower into his seat before remembering his manners. "Oh, do you want something to eat?"

Chenle waves him off. "I had food back home before I Flooed over," he says dismissively, still staring around the room in horror, eyes widening when he catches the toy skeleton hanging over the fireplace. Jisung had found it at a flea market a couple of weeks ago and had absolutely refused to relinquish it, despite Donghyuck’s moaning that it would come alive one night and kill them both. "Something of a victory lap at my favourite buffet. Does the whole _house_ look like this?"

Jisung shrugs. "More or less."

“Well,” Chenle says, propping his hands on his hips and looking so much like a certain someone, it leaves Jisung breathless for half a second. “This won’t do at all. Get up.”

Jisung stares at him. “What?” 

Chenle flaps a hand at him. “Get up. We’re making this house a _livable_ place with some fucking light in it.” He shoots a dirty look at the heavy curtains covering the windows. “I’m going to burn those hideous things. How the fuck did Donghyuck let you go on like this?”

Jisung shrugs again, getting up slowly, only because he knows that if he doesn’t listen, Chenle will force him up. “Wasn’t really his first priority.” He thinks about it for a second. “Or mine.”

Chenle’s face falls for a split second, mouth crumpling into a sad moue, and Jisung feels abruptly bad for pushing him into the reminder of Jisung’s current, very shitty, situation before Chenle straightens again, throwing his shoulders back. 

“Well, now you’re much better, aren’t you? So this is going to become a priority,” he announces before marching to the foyer, leaving Jisung no choice but to follow. 

They start from the top, making their way down. Jisung's house isn't large — he'd bought it after the Nightmares' best season two years ago, with 23 wins, 1 loss — but right now, as he slowly follows Chenle, walking down stairs from the attic to the third floor landing with their wands out and a bucket of cleaning supplies levitating out in front of them, he finds it absolutely massive.

Cleaning is not fun, even with magic doing half the work for them, because in that time, Chenle takes it upon himself to ask Jisung many questions about his accident and healing and Jisung answers as evasively as he can before turning it back around on Chenle. It works, only because Chenle is obsessed with dragons, and given any chance to talk about them, he'll go on for hours.

They slowly make their way across the rooms, Chenle forcing Jisung to throw open the curtains to let some light into the house and sending the clutter back to its respective spaces.

Then they come up to the first door on the third floor, locked shut. And before Jisung can say a word, Chenle flicks the lock open, peering in.

"What is this room?" He wrinkles his nose, casting a glance around the dust covered furniture. "It's so dusty."

Jisung swallows, leaning against the doorjamb. He hasn't opened this room in months and it feels like a shard of glass is cutting into his throat as he clears it, looking around at the familiar surroundings. "It used to be my room, remember?"

The picture on the bedside table catches his eye and Jisung's jaw clenches. He stalks over to slam the frame down, but Chenle catches his hand before he can and takes the frame from him.

"You'll break it that way," he says, ignoring Jisung's glare, as he flips the frame over, glancing down at the dusty picture and smoothing his hand over the glass, smiling fondly at the laughing figures. Jisung looks at it as well despite his best intentions not to, and ice fills his heart when he catches a glimpse of himself.

The picture was taken almost a year ago, in early December, on the day of the first snow. All of their friends, Donghyuck and Jeno included — having been begged to tear themselves away from work — had traipsed to Jaemin's house the night before, talking and getting tipsy on Firewhiskey before passing out on the living room floor, with blankets and pillows summoned from Jaemin's rooms. And in the morning, Jaemin had dragged Jisung out into the snow, still in his pajamas, laughing and gleeful, spinning him around as the snow fell around them, soft and cold, melting as soon as they hit the apple warm pink of Jisung's blushing cheeks.

Jisung remembers that Jaemin was obsessed with cameras at that time and he’d had several cameras littered around the house, having bought them obsessively. He doesn't know who took the picture, just that someone had grabbed the camera sitting on the entryway and had snapped the very moment Jaemin had spun him around, catching him by the waist with a happy laugh when Jisung had stumbled on the snow, flinging his arms around Jaemin's neck to keep steady.

Jisung swallows. It hurts.

The Jisung and Jaemin in the picture grin up at them before spinning around again, the silent laughter ringing in Jisung's ears.

"Why'd you stop using this room?" Chenle asks softly. He gently sets the frame back on the bedside table.

Jisung shrugs. "It was easier to not have to make it up the stairs every night with my injuries.”

"And too many memories, clearly," Chenle says, arching a knowing eyebrow over at him.

Jisung glares at him, pinching the sleeve of Chenle's sweater in his fingers and forcibly dragging him out of the room. He hates Chenle for knowing him so well. "If you want to force me to clean, do that," he snaps. "But you can't make me talk."

"That's where you're wrong," Chenle sings cheerily as the door slams shut behind them, the lock clicking into place with a final thud, locking in the memories of a past Jisung no longers wants to remember.

They finish cleaning at around half past five and collapse on the living room carpet, the setting sun pouring gold in around them.

"What are you going to do now?" Jisung asks Chenle, turning his head sideways to glance at him. Chenle rolls his head back to look at him. Jisung lifts a hand to play with his hair; his hair had turned a muted lavender during his trip and it suits him, hanging over amber bright eyes.

"I've got a few offers at some conservatories and some training arenas," Chenle hums. "The Triwizard Tournament's coming up again, did you know? They want us to pull a couple of dragons out for them."

"Huh." Jisung thinks of the time the Triwizard Tournament had come up at Hogwarts. Jeno had put his name in, and Mark did as well, but neither of them had made it. Which seemed for the best, looking back on it. It seems like so long ago now. "Time flies."

Chenle hums before rolling around on the carpet and propping himself up on his elbows, narrowing a glare at Jisung that lets him know an annoying and slightly invasive conversation was coming.

"What?"

Chenle nudges closer. "You didn't tell me you broke up with Jaemin. I didn't even know until Hyuck mentioned it in his letters."

Jisung shrugs as best he can with his shoulders pressed against the floor, unconsciously doing the exercises Donghyuck taught him to loosen up his tightened muscles. "I had more important things on my mind."

Chenle rolls his eyes. "Yes, yes I know, your tragic accident."

The laugh that bursts out of Jisung startles them both. “You’ve become kind of an asshole in China,” Jisung says admiringly. “What changed?” 

Chenle grins over at him. “Dragons, man. They’re assholes themselves.” He eyes Jisung for a second longer. “What have you been up to these days?” 

Jisung shrugs. “Not much. I read a lot nowadays.”

Chenle narrows his eyes at him shrewdly. “And training for the new season I assume.”

Jisung doesn’t say anything for a minute and the silence stretches out before them, imposing and expectant. Chenle waits and Jisung finally sighs, letting his muscles relax against the carpet. “I’m not going back.”

Another beat of silence. Then Chenle scrambles upward, kneeling over Jisung and staring at him accusingly. “What do you mean you’re not going _back_?” He demands in a high voice Jisung hasn’t heard since their sixth year. 

Jisung slowly sits up as well, crossing his legs carefully under him, ignoring the twinge of pain at the base of his spine. “I’m not going back to the team,” he says slowly, avoiding Chenle’s gaze, choosing to direct his attention to the loose thread poking out of the carpet instead. 

Chenle doesn’t allow him the luxury of doing so however, and grabs his cheeks between his fingers, forcing him to look up at him. “Jisung Park,” Chenle says slowly. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not going back,” Jisung mutters again through squished cheeks. He doesn’t know how many times he has to repeat it, but he’s sure it’s going to be a lot more than once, especially as one by one, his nosy friends all learn of the news. “I’ve decided.”

Chenle stares at him. “ _Why?_ ”

Jisung shrugs. “A lot of reasons.” 

“Mind telling me at least one of them?”

And at that second, in some kind of muted, fateful answer to Jisung’s silent pleas, the front door opens and Donghyuck walks in yelling Jisung’s name, the smell of curry filling the air. “Jisung Park!” Donghyuck sings loudly, the front door slamming shut behind him with a mighty bang. “I brought your lazy ass food, come and get it before I eat it all!”

He walks into the living room, face brightening when he catches sight of Chenle. “Oh, Chenle! You’re back!”

Chenle shoots up, abandoning his torture of Jisung’s cheeks and flings his arms out as Donghyuck drops the bags and throws himself at Chenle, laughing brightly. Jisung watches them hug, a faint smile playing about his lips. Chenle’s gotten taller in his months away and his head is several inches past Donghyuck’s now.

Donghyuck draws back, grinning fondly at Chenle. “When’d you arrive?” He asks, ruffling Chenle’s hair. “And what color is _this_?” 

Chenle laughs and the two of them fall into chattering, Chenle telling Donghyuck the highlights of his year which Jisung had already heard, so he busies himself with summoning the food Donghyuck had brought over on the coffee table, flicking his wand to get plates and cutlery from the kitchen as they continue talking. He lets their conversation wash over him as they eat, humming along with every other sentence, only really listening when Chenle asks Donghyuck a question. 

“Did you know about Jisung not going back to Quidditch?”

Jisung looks up from his paneer tikka slowly to find Donghyuck glancing appraisingly at him and Chenle glaring accusingly at him, though it has nowhere near the effect he wants it to with his lavender hair hanging around his face. “I guessed,” he says slowly, tearing off a piece of naan and contemplatively chewing it. “Did he tell you today?”

“I’m right here,” Jisung says snappishly. 

Chenle ignores him in favour of narrowing his eyes at Donghyuck. “And did you happen to guess _why_?”

Donghyuck shrugs. “Not particularly.”

“ _He_ doesn’t have to guess _anything_ ,” Jisung snaps louder, and finally they both look over at him. Jisung stands, shoving his food away and flicking his wand to get his coat. “It’s _my_ fucking decision and I don’t have to explain it.”

Chenle stares up at him, eyes wide. “Jisung,” he says, tone apologetic all of a sudden. But Jisung can’t find it in him to let go of the sudden annoyance bubbling up in him, festering and angry. 

Donghyuck says nothing as Jisung throws the coat on and stalks out, but that’s probably just as well. He’d just remind Jisung to get his stretches in or something equally as inane.

* * *

Jisung used to hate walking around London. 

Not the wizarding parts, but the Muggle ones. He was too scared of giving himself away or of saying something too outlandish and getting discovered. 

Besides, he’d been raised outside the city. His mother and father were farmers, both excellent in Herbology, and under their green hands Jisung had spent his whole childhood under towering crops of wheat and barley. Crops that used to be so tall, Jisung hadn’t been able to see over the tops of them until he got to fifth year and suddenly shot up. His favourite place of all, however, had been the garden at the back of the house. His parents had planted every vegetable known to mankind that they could get to flower under the unforgiving dirt, until every inch of the backyard was covered in flowering blossoms, heavy ripe eggplants that would wind their ways through the grass, jewels in a league of their own, and peaches flowering through emerald leaves, ripe and sweet, almost seeming to dip down into Jisung’s waiting hands. 

Jisung hated London when he’d first moved there — the cobblestone streets, the gray weather, the dark moody nature, all of it completely unbecoming to letting anything green bloom. He’d hated it, but he’d had to stay because London was where Quidditch was, and Jisung was never going to give that up — not even for the prettiest garden in the whole world. 

He makes do with a small makeshift greenhouse in the back balcony of the house, on the second floor — over looking the paltry excuse for a backyard — and lets Eucalyptus and Singing Ivy grow wild all over his walls and rooms, unfettered and uncut because they smell lovely and sing so prettily on sunny days. Most of the time, it’s enough. 

The Muggle markets are just closing for the day, though there are still a few stalls open, and Jisung maintains a careful distance as he walks by, taking in the sights. There’s an old woman selling bread and pastries, though most of them are gone by now as the rush hour has just passed and many hungry workers have taken their fill. Jisung considers it for a second before he digs in his cloak for his coin pouch. He always keeps some after several surprise excursions with Jaemin had forced him to hold Muggle money, and he carefully counts out the right Muggle coins before inching his way up to the vendor and buying a sausage pastry. 

“Heading to a costume party?” The vendor croaks out at him, her smile wide as she hands Jisung his change. 

Jisung blinks at her, not knowing what she means before he looks down at himself and it clicks. “Oh, yes,” he stutters, drawing his cloak around him tighter. He’s wearing Muggle clothes underneath, a pair of soft worn gray sweatpants that Jaemin had introduced him to in fifth year, and that he’d become inexplicably fond of, but it’s covered up by his favourite cloak — rich black and lined with a dark green velvet — a homage to his old House — and certainly not anything similar to what the passerby behind him donned. 

“Have a good time,” the woman says cheerily.

Jisung waves at the vendor before he crosses the street. The pastry is savoury and warm, and quiets the grumbling in his stomach that had started since he’d abandoned what was going to be a very good dinner. The thought of dinner makes Jisung scowl, tucking his head down into his scarf. It’s irksome that he has to explain his decisions. Shouldn’t the fact that he nearly died be enough for people to leave him alone?

Though deep down, Jisung knows, such an excuse will never fly with his friends, who are nosier than most, and especially won’t with Chenle, who’s been perhaps his greatest cheerleader in his career, and who knows Jisung far more deeply than Jisung is comfortable with. He’ll have to come up with a proper explanation sooner rather than later, but for now, Jisung can ride on the wave of his indignation and still aching scars to keep the questions at bay.

Soon enough, he happens upon the entrance to Diagon Alley. There’s the obvious one, of course, in the Leaky Cauldron but Jisung prefers the other pathways, the lesser known ones. He’d gotten to know them on many dates with Jaemin when they were eager to avoid the press, and he still uses them despite the memories attached. Besides, Jisung, no matter how he would like to be considered otherwise, is a relatively well known figure in the wizarding world, especially around London, and at a time like this, when the Quidditch training season is starting back up again, any sight of him will make headlines in tomorrow’s Daily Prophet and he has no interest in being plastered all over the gossip pages, especially not looking like this. 

There’s a side entrance to the Alley, by an old flower shop that sits unassuming nestled between handyman services and a pet store. Jisung glances up at it, the old vintage sign swaying slowly in the wind and without meaning to, slides back into a memory.

_“Jaemin!”_

_“Come on,” Jaemin says, and even with his scarf pulled up around his chin and mouth, his hat pulled snugly down around pinking ears, Jisung can make out his wide smile, the way his eyes crinkle up in delight. His hand wraps around Jisung’s wrist and tugs him forward, down the street._

_“I don’t want to get seen,” Jisung says, but he lets himself be pulled along. It’s not as if he can’t hold Jaemin back if he wanted to. He pouts, “_ Jaemin. _”_

_Jaemin glances at him, the tone taking him by surprise. Jisung rarely allows himself to slip like this in public but sometimes—_

_Sometimes it just slips out._

_“We can’t hide all the time, Jisung,” Jaemin says gently, slowing down, so they can wrap their hands more firmly around each other. Their gloves slide together and Jisung pretends he can feel Jaemin’s hand underneath it. “Just because we might get seen. What kind of life is that? Are we supposed to be quarantined in our homes whenever we’re not working?”_

_“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” Jisung mumbles, casting Jaemin a warning look. “Especially when you have a movie premiere tomorrow and ending up on the front pages is the_ last _thing you need.”_

_“You’re such a worrywart,” Jaemin laughs. “Ah, Jisung, what happened to you, you used to be so bright.”_

_Jisung straightens, shooting Jaemin a nasty look which only serves to delight him further. “I am_ not _a worrywart,” Jisung snaps._

_“Then prove it,” Jaemin says, eyes bright, bright, bright. “Let’s go on a date.”_

_Jisung rolls his eyes. “You can’t keep saying that, and just think it solves everything.”_

_“But you’re coming with me regardless,” Jaemin says as he pushes open the door to the flower shop._

_The woman at the cashier looks up, but no sign of recognition flashes over her face._

_"Are you sure we're okay?" Jisung casts an anxious look back at the front as Jaemin tugs him down the row of flowers. They're all bright, all colourful, a varying rainbow of shades and smells._

_One of them catches Jisung's eye and he slows, hovering over it._

_"What?" Jaemin asks, coming back to him, their fingers lacing together._

_"They're pretty," Jisung murmurs, brushing a tentative finger over the purple flowers._

_"Lilacs," Jaemin points out the sign with his free hand. "They have a lot of meaning, you know."_

_Jisung glances sideways at him. "Did you study a lot of flower meanings at Hogwarts?"_

_"Brat," Jaemin murmurs affectionately. "Do you want to know what they mean?"_

_"Lilacs?"_

_"Mmm."_

_"Yeah, what do they mean?"_

_Jaemin smiles up at him, a fond smile crossing over his handsome face, and Jisung feels a trickle of goosebumps slide down his spine. "First love," he murmurs, and a flush crawls over Jisung's cheeks, high and hot._

_He ducks his head and Jaemin laughs, pressing a kiss to the curve of Jisung's cheek._

_"Come on," Jaemin says. "Let’s go."_

_They walk through Diagon Alley, winding through the back streets and into shops. Jisung forces Jaemin into an ice cream shop, and they walk out with a large cone, three scoops of forever frozen caramel and chocolate in Jisung's hand._

_"You're going to catch a cold," Jaemin sighs._

_Jisung shrugs. "Worth it," he mumbles around a mouthful of ice cream._

_They interlace hands again and the single lilac stem, tucked into Jisung's front coat pocket, trembles along with the sway of their steps._

* * *

It's late when Jisung decides to head back home.

He'd wandered around the Alley for a few hours, spending most of it in a bookstore and picking up whatever book caught his eye, dropping it back on the shelf when he got too bored and moving onto the next one.

Jisung had never been a fan of reading before. Even the smallest assignment at school had been arduous and boring. The only class he'd ever loved with a passion wasn't even counted as one. But after the accident, with a lot of free time suddenly thrust upon him and nowhere to go and nothing to see but the four walls of his hospital room, he'd slowly picked it up.

It had been Donghyuck's recommendations at first, as he was the only person Jisung saw on a regular basis other than his mom and Taeil, and Jisung had silently suffered through his trashy romance suggestions and aching long lost loves with all the pain of bathing in lemon juice when your whole body was covered in open cuts.

Then he had moved onto Taeil who had recommended obscure French and Russian poets.

"It's the most beautiful language in the world," Taeil had said wistfully, holding a large stack of books in his arms. He'd quoted a long line of Russian at Jisung, staring out the window before turning around and dropping the books on the bed, just shy of Jisung's feet, one of them still encased in an itchy cast.

Jisung picked up one of the books and read the cover, before looking up at his doctor. "Dr. Moon."

"Taeil," Taeil insisted.

"Taeil," Jisung repeated, holding up the book. "I can't read Russian."

Taeil had stared at the book and then down at the pile, which was slowly slipping off the bed and caught them just as they were about to drop off. "Ah," he said. "That does present a problem."

"Yes," Jisung agreed.

"I'll find you translations," Taeil promised.

When he'd finally been discharged from the hospital, Jisung had started to read more and more. He'd ask Donghyuck to pick up books for him whenever he came over, whenever he went out; any book, any genre, any story. It helped Jisung then, to know that there was another world he could sink himself into, rather than face his current reality.

Jisung crosses across the street, looking both ways even though the street is mostly deserted, a new book tucked under his arm. He has to take a back alleyway to go through the flower shop again and when he ducks behind a large clothing store, he sees it.

It's a simple sign, wooden and swinging lightly in the wind, reading in cursive letters _The Brazen Thorn._ The large, smoked windows show candlelight and the shadowy figures of a few patrons, but it's the door that catches Jisung's attention. It's large and wooden, but the naturally occurring cracks are filled with golden light, making it look heavenly, ethereal. Jisung steps closer, ducking closer to look at it, but it doesn't appear as if the door is cracked open in a tiny million pieces to let the light through.

The door swings open and Jisung startles back, his heart pounding in his chest.

A man stands at the entrance to the bar, an unimpressed look on his face. "Are you coming in or are you just going to stand there staring at my door the whole night?"

"I — I — was uh — I was just looking at your door," Jisung stutters in shock, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"I could see that," the man says dryly, crossing his arms around him as a cool wind whips through the alley. He tips his head at Jisung, sweeping his gaze up and down his body consideringly and Jisung flushes. His hair is oddly silver, catching the candlelight from inside and turning a burnished gold.

"I have to go," Jisung blurts. "It's late."

The man raises an eyebrow. "Okay," he says, stepping back in, clearly intent on letting the conversation end there, but something in Jisung propels him to speak again.

"I'll come back — later — again," he says inanely, taking a half step forward, not knowing why it's so important he tell this stranger his plans. "When it's um — less late."

The man pauses in shutting the door. "Okay," he says again, marginally lighter than he had previously, and Jisung catches half a glimmer of a smile before the man steps back into the pub and the door swings shut behind him.

He stands there for a moment, staring at the closed door with its thousand tiny cracks and feels very much for a moment, as he had when he’d seen the gates of Hogwarts for the first time. It’s a strange feeling, especially given how long ago that had been. 

Finally, he slips out the door and back down to the flower shop. The back door tinkles when it opens and Jisung winces. Inside, the store is dark but by the front, comes a single light. 

Jisung tries to slip by the register quickly but— 

“Jisung.”

Jisung winces to himself before turning around to face Taeyeon. “Hi,” he says quietly. “I didn’t know you were here.” 

“I’m always here” Taeyeon says serenely before her angular face darkens. The cobweb silk of her hair flutters in an unfelt wind. “You’re not supposed to be out this late.”

“I don’t have a curfew, I’m twenty four years old,” Jisung mumbles, rubbing the back of his head. Taeyeon’s eyes narrow and Jisung tries to backpedal. “I’m— ”

“Donghyuck sent a message,” Taeyeon interrupts delicately, despite the silent disapproval shimmering off her. “He was worried.” 

“I’m heading back now,” Jisung says. “You don’t need to — thanks for staying up.”

Taeyeon smiles, and when she floats through her desk, her delicate gossamer skirt hardly fluttering as she does so, the room seems to grow a little darker. Jisung doesn’t move back. He’s known Taeyeon too long to be afraid of her. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t hold a healthy level of wariness. “I don’t sleep, little one” she laughs throatily, reaching up a hand to run her fingers through Jisung’s hair. It feels like snow, light and cold, barely ruffling his hair, and Jisung’s eyes slip shut for a second. Taeyeon draws back and looks up at him, tiny even if she is floating half a foot off the ground. “I saw Jaemin months ago,” she continues and Jisung flinches. 

“That’s — I don’t —”

“You both are so full of hurt,” Taeyeon goes on and when Jisung blinks away from his blind panic, managing to focus back on her, he sees her eyes blank and lost in thought, far, far away. “So young, but so full of pain.”

“Well,” Jisung says carefully, avoiding any mention of Jaemin. “I think nearly dying will do that to you.”

Taeyeon snaps back into herself, her transparent eyes sharpening at him. “I don’t mean that and you know it, you silly boy,” she huffs before floating rapidly away from him. “Get out of my store,” she says, settling behind the counter and tipping her chin up at him. The front door to the shop swings open under her command. 

“Goodnight, Taeyeon,” Jisung says, obeying with a rueful smile. “Thank you for waiting up for me.”

Taeyeon’s piqued expression smooths out marginally. “Get home safe,” she calls. “I’ll be waiting.”

The last notes of her voice echo around Jisung as the door shuts behind him. The street in front of him is empty and quiet, and Taeyeon’s voice rings out for a long time past him, sonorous and beautiful. 

Jisung doesn’t know the circumstances behind Taeyeon’s death, nor the ones that had led her to become a ghost that held court in a flower shop hidden from Muggle eyes, a gatekeeper of a secret entrance. But whenever he leaves, he always thanks her and Taeyeon always says she’ll wait. She’ll possibly be waiting forever, though it isn’t a nice notion. 

Jisung’s sure whatever was supposed to release her from this eternal wait is long gone, and so, there Taeyeon will remain, waiting and waiting, for years and years even after Jisung himself is long gone from this world. 

It’s a sobering thought. 

* * *

Donghyuck is waiting up for him when Jisung finally enters the house.

It’s a little past midnight going by the large grandfather clock that sits in the hallway. It had been gifted to Jisung so long ago, by an enamoured fan, and after it had been thoroughly vetted by Taeyong-Johnny-Minho-Taeyong-Mark-Taeyong, Jisung had been allowed to keep it in his home, standing guard in a quiet house that would not otherwise realised time passing if not for its presence.

Jisung makes to go straight up to his room, but he stops short when he sees the lights on in the main room. He considers just walking by Donghyuck but decides against it, heaving a huge sigh before entering the living room. It’s better to get this over with now than have to deal with Donghyuck later, when he’s had time to stew.

Donghyuck is sitting on the armchair closest to the fire, pen absently flicking over paperwork, his feet dangling over one of the arms, back resting against the other, teeth caught between his lips. He looks very much like the kid Jisung had grown up with, laying around on the Slytherin common room floor long after everyone else had gone to bed and helping Jisung with his essays, with only minimal teasing. Donghyuck flicks to another page, taking his time reading it before he finally looks up to Jisung, petty till the end. "You took your time," Donghyuck says neutrally.

"You messaged Taeyeon."

"I did," Donghyuck says finally, shutting his file. "Are you going to storm back out into the night like a petulant child again?"

Jisung flushes, anger swooping over him. He never used to get angry, not like this. Before, Jisung’s anger was a normal reaction, quick to come and quick to go. Growing up with Chenle meant that there was really no time to be angry, but after the accident, he’s found things have changed. It’s easier and easier for him to get angry, to get annoyed and snap, and Donghyuck, having been the only one around him for months, had taken the brunt of it. Though, Jisung can’t bring himself to feel guilty about that right now. 

“I am _not_ a child,” he snaps. 

“But you’re acting like one,” Donghyuck shoots back coolly. “I get that it’s hard for you—”

“ _Do you_?”

There’s a pause and Jisung realises he’s shaking, hands trembling. He feels dizzy from the rush of blood to his head. Donghyuck stares at him and then in one movement, drops his papers on the ground and swings his feet down to sit upright on the armchair. 

“I do,” Donghyuck says quietly. “You forget, it’s not just you in this, Jisung. I was there the whole time. From the beginning, I never left your side, and I’ve been through it all with you. Even if it wasn’t me lying on that hospital bed.”

Jisung flushes. 

“But that’s no reason to storm out at a perfectly reasonable question.”

“It’s no one’s business!” Jisung snaps. “If I want to play again or not, it’s _no one’s_ decision. It’s _mine._ It’s _my_ life.”

“It is.” Donghyuck doesn’t miss a beat and Jisung wants to yell at him, wants to make that damnable composure shatter. Wants Donghyuck to yell back at him. He never used to be like this. _Donghyuck_ was the petty one, the one who held grudges, who got angry and stormed away and refused to talk to you for weeks on end purely on _principle_. When had he grown up? When had Jisung become this looking glass version of himself? So distorted and cracked it hurt to look at his own reflection anymore? 

“Jisung.”

Jisung looks up at Donghyuck. His palms are hurting where he’s digging his nails in, but he doesn’t stop. “What?” He spits. 

“It’s your life,” Donghyuck says quietly, and there’s something in his eyes, that makes the back of Jisung’s eyes burn. “It’s your decision, no one is going to take that away from you. But you have to remember, Jisung, that you have people here to help you. You don’t have to do this all alone. And we’re not going to leave you just because you choose a different path than the one you started out on.”

Jisung closes his eyes and tries not to let a sound escape him. His shoulders drop and he slumps against the wall. That glittering door in the Alley suddenly seems so far away now, like a near forgotten dream, the last tendrils of glittering gold curling back to him, begging to hold on. 

“I’m…” He’s just tired. It’s been months of exhaustion, of worry, of dread, of _pain_. And Jisung just wants it all to stop. At least for a little while.

He doesn’t say any of that.

Jisung swallows and straightens.

“I’m going to bed.”

Donghyuck doesn’t sigh but it’s clear he wants to — that much Jisung can tell — when he opens his eyes again.

“Okay,” Donghyuck says, leaning back in his chair, picking up his papers again. “Good night, Jisung.”

Jisung doesn’t reply as he walks back out. His legs hurt from all the walking he did and he can tell already, from the stiffness starting to gather at the base of his spine, that even trying to get out of bed tomorrow is going to be agony.

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know your thoughts!
> 
> and here is [absolutely gorgeous cover art](https://twitter.com/lovecherriemoji/status/1336962704767131648?s=21) from leo
> 
> [the moondust playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3h4zIoOqrlBZDyQJoVZ7NI?si=pDN6UBv0Qaizj8957rF0fA)
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/_donghyuck_)  
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/thereisnoreality)


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